The Quality of Mercy
by Marguerite1
Summary: The quality of mercy is not strained.
1. Default Chapter

Classification: General   
Spoilers: Up through "Abu El Banat," although this is not a post-ep.   
  
Dedicated to Judi with respect, love, and prayers.  
  
***  
THE QUALITY OF MERCY  
***  
  
Friday, December 26, 2003  
  
  
Under any circumstances, President Bartlet was not a fan of early morning  
meetings in the Oval Office. Excellent coffee and a hot shower might ensure that  
his mind would be sharp, but at six o'clock in the morning, regardless of the  
quality of the coffee, he was easily upset. Perhaps, he mused as he watched Leo  
pour a cup and hand it to Ron Butterfield, it was because no one ever called a  
meeting at this hour to discuss good news.  
  
The President, the Chief of Staff, and the head of the President's security  
detail were in the Oval Office at 5:58 in the morning, the day after Christmas.  
Do the math, Bartlet thought as he opened the blue folder and began to read.  
  
Damn.  
  
"Yeah," he said softly, settling his glasses further back on his nose so he  
could see the bottom of the page. "Yeah, we need to get him in here. And we need  
to get this to Toby, because CJ's going to get questions on it at the early  
press conference."  
  
Leo walked toward the anteroom, favoring his right leg a little as he always did  
when he was tired. He opened the door and motioned at Charlie. "Come on in. Oh,  
and Nancy - could you take this to Toby's office?"  
  
From his vantage point near the desk, Bartlet could see the confusion on  
Charlie's face as the folder was handed past him to Nancy. "I don't understand,"  
Charlie said slowly. "Isn't this a security briefing?"  
  
"Yes," Ron said. "We would like you to be in on this part of it."  
  
"It's just that I have to meet with Josh about picking someone to stay behind  
during the State--"  
  
"Charlie," Bartlet interrupted, his voice sounding unnaturally loud. "Come in.  
This concerns you."  
  
***  
  
Josh wasn't pleased with any of the names on his list. He rubbed his eyes before  
looking at the paper again, scowling when the lettering didn't change. He  
wasn't even sure who some of these people were. "Donna! Who the hell is Fred  
Davis?"  
  
There was no reply.  
  
"Donna!"  
  
She appeared in the doorway, lips pursed tightly, arms folded. "What do you  
need?"  
  
"I don't know who Fred Davis is."  
  
"Neither do I."  
  
"His name is right here," Josh grumbled, holding up the paper, "in the line of  
succession, yet still I have no idea who he is or what he does." He paused,  
waiting for a response, but Donna was silent. "So I need you to find out." When  
there was no respose, Josh looked up and saw Donna's face turned toward  
something in the corner of the room. "Did you hear anything I just said?"  
  
He expected her to stare him down and retort that she didn't care. Instead, she  
lifted her head and looked a little to his right, not meeting his eyes, and  
softly apologized. "I'm sorry, Josh, I didn't catch that."  
  
Josh leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. "Fred Davis."  
  
"You want to know who he is?"  
  
"Yeah, and why he's on the list of people we might leave out of the State of the  
Union."  
  
Donna's expression didn't change. "The line of...succession?"  
  
Somewhere in the recesses of Josh's mind, an alarm was beginning to sound.  
"Yeah. We should probably take that a little more seriously after the brief  
Presidency of GlenAllen Walken, right?"  
  
There was no comeback, just a little tilt of her head. Donna bit her lip, looked  
past Josh out the window, and clasped her clipboard to her chest. "Josh, I know  
it's right after Christmas, but I need a couple days off."  
  
"To find out who Fred Davis is?" Josh asked, squinting up at her. "Farm that  
out, or just look it up somewhere."  
  
"No." She almost met his eyes, then turned her head away again. "Starting  
Monday. A few days."  
  
In the middle of everything that was going on? Josh shook his head. "I'd love to  
be Good Boss for this, but we've got to get eleven votes for 654, and Toby's  
going nuts on the State of the Union now that Will's gone to the OEOB and you  
know all the stats he needs, plus there are new people coming in. We need you  
here, Donna. This isn't a good--"  
  
She was gone. Josh rose, banged his knee on the corner of the desk, swore under  
his breath, and started out the door, where he was intercepted by Toby. "Just a  
minute, Toby, I need to--"  
  
"Josh, wait." Toby's expression was almost always serious, but Josh had never  
seen this particular set to his jaw. He glanced around, not seeing Donna  
anywhere, and pulled Toby into his office.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Ron Butterfield's in the Oval with the President, Leo...and Charlie." Toby  
paced the small, cluttered office, making circular gestures with his hands as if  
compensating for the lack of walking space. "I thought it was maybe another  
death threat, something like that."  
  
"It's not?" Josh asked, feeling more apprehensive with every step Toby took.  
  
"No. There's a man named Bernard Ritenour, a real mamzer, killed I don't know  
how many people. He's on Death Row and they're gonna execute him in a couple  
days."  
  
Josh was puzzled. "Are we going to try and get the sentence commuted?"  
  
"No." Toby's countenance was particularly grim. "He's not asking for a stay or  
anything. It would seem that while he was incarcerated, he realized the error of  
his ways. He found religion and is now confessing to a number of other crimes."  
  
"I don't get it. Is he hoping that because he's found Jesus, he won't be held  
responsible for the other crimes?"  
  
"I wouldn't call that an impossible notion, although it does make me wonder  
whether someone who'd just found Muhammed would get the same kind of press  
coverage. However, that's neither here nor there." Toby took a quick, shallow  
breath and fixed his gaze on Josh. "So Ron's in there right now, telling Charlie  
they found the man who killed his mother."  
  
***  
  
Toby moved fast when he was wound up about something, so fast that Josh was  
constantly in danger of lagging behind. "This guy Ritenour - oh, sorry," he said  
to the intern he nearly knocked down. By the time he turned back to Toby, he was  
almost at the end of the corridor. Josh ran to catch up. "This guy Ritenour,  
they're sure he's telling the truth?"  
  
"I don't see why he'd lie," Toby said sharply. "It's not like he's trying to  
bargain for anything. He wants to get this off his chest, so he made a list of  
the people he killed, and one of them was a cop who'd arrested him a few times  
for drunk and disorderly. Althea Young."  
  
"Oh." Josh was relieved to have reached the anteroom, where he leaned against  
the wall and caught his breath. Sometimes his heart and lungs didn't quite keep  
up with the demands put on his body. He felt Debbie's appraising glance on him,  
so he straightened up and willed himself to breathe normally. "So what does he  
want? What does he hope to gain by doing this?"  
  
"Beats hell out of me. I guess he felt the need to confess since he was born  
again."  
  
"I never understood that expression - did they get born wrong and need to do it  
over?"  
  
Toby's death-glare was in full force. Whatever retort he might have been  
preparing died on his lips when the door opened and Charlie walked out. He stood  
straight and tall, his face completely impassive as he nodded at Toby and Josh  
on his way out into the hall. Josh spun around to say something, then thought  
better of it and turned toward the Oval Office. Bartlet was waving them in, so  
he followed Toby, cutting a sidelong glance at Debbie to see if she were still  
checking his vital signs from across the room. She seemed to be ignoring him.  
Good.  
  
Everyone sat down except Josh, who read the report over Toby's shoulder while  
Ron talked. "This guy, Ritenour, seems to be on the level about what he's done."  
  
That wasn't what Josh really cared about. "How's he taking it?" he asked.  
  
Bartlet offered him a slight smile. "Quietly, so far. The reason Ron's involved  
is that Ritenour wants to see him and Deanna, so Ron wanted to give me some  
ideas for protection."  
  
"He's going to go?" Toby asked, sounding surprised and pained. Josh wondered if  
he had ever gone to see his father in prison.  
  
"He's thinking about it," Bartlet sighed. "Toby, I wanted you in on this because  
there's going to be a thing, of course, since it's Charlie and the whole Press  
Corps knows him. And Josh, I wanted you to have all the information because  
you're someone he talks to."  
  
"I'm not sure exactly why he wants to see Charlie and Deanna," Josh said."  
  
"Ritenour doesn't just want to meet Charlie and Deanna - he wants to contact the  
families of all the people he's killed, whether he was tried for their murders  
or not. To apologize, he says." Ron's voice was measured yet disdainful at the  
same time, something Josh admired greatly. "He also is asking families of his  
various victims to be present at his execution."  
  
"Wow." Josh could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock above the rise and  
fall of his own breathing.  
  
"Well said, Josh," Bartlet sighed. "Charlie's going to need some time to think  
it over."  
  
"Not too much time," Leo put in, "because the execution is on Monday. So if he  
comes to you, Josh - or to you, Toby - keep an eye on him, let us know what he's  
thinking."  
  
Bartlet shifted in his chair. "I don't know who he'll take into his confidence.  
I just want him to...God, I can't begin to imagine what he's feeling right now."  
  
"We've got him covered," Josh said, lifting his chin.  
  
"Good, good. I've had a copy faxed to CJ - would you two mind helping her  
formulate something to tell the press?"  
  
"You want me?" Josh pointed to his chest with both hands. "Working with the  
press secretary?"  
  
"Just be there for the bouncing of ideas. Get Donna in on it; she's got her  
finger on the pulse of just about everything going on around here."  
  
Donna. Damn. Josh fidgeted while Toby put his papers in order and rose. Leo  
opened the door for them, then Ron followed them out. "Thanks for your help on  
this."  
  
"If he asks," Toby inquired, not breaking stride, "how should we advise him?"  
  
"I really can't say. We can keep him and his sister safe, that's a given. But  
beyond that, well, I really just can't say." Ron shook his head. "There's no  
such thing as closure, no matter how much we think we want it. Don't let him  
walk into a psychobabble trap."  
  
"Not much chance of that," Josh said. He suddenly found himself missing Sam,  
missing the way his compassion permeated their lives. He'd call Sam later, fill  
him in, ask for some words that might help Charlie.  
  
Ron left them and headed for the lobby while Toby and Josh continued to CJ's  
office. She was standing up in the middle of the room, her glasses down on the  
edge of her nose, frowning at whatever she was reading.  
  
"Ritenour," Toby said without preamble, "wants Charlie and Deanna - among others  
- to witness the execution."  
  
"I have that," CJ said, not looking up from the document. "Did you hear about  
the leg?"  
  
Josh looked at Toby, who shrugged.  
  
CJ continued. "Prior to his rebirth, or whatever we're going to call it,  
Ritenour was a tough nut. Got into a lot of fights, and in one fight he was cut  
so deeply with a homemade knife that his leg had to be amputated below the  
knee."  
  
"Which leg?" Josh asked, more out of reflex than a desire to know.  
  
"The...right one. Not that it matters."  
  
"Then what does matter?" Toby asked, rubbing his forehead with the pad of his  
thumb.  
  
Waving the paper with one hand and taking her glasses off with the other, CJ  
recited the facts. "He is willing to go to the gas chamber without a legal fight  
of any kind, as long as he gets to walk there on his own steam. No crutches, no  
wheelchair. He wants a leg. To be more specific, he wants a state-of-the-art  
leg, because that's what his lawyer says he's entitled to."  
  
Toby's eyes were shaded by his hand, but Josh knew what his expression would be.  
"We're going to spend a couple hundred thousand dollars on him, then put him to  
death?"  
  
"Cheaper than keeping him alive, or than fighting this in court ad infinitum,"  
CJ said, brusquely. "Personally, I just think he's trying to stall without  
making it look like he's trying to stall."  
  
She and Toby had fought with bitterness on both sides of the death penalty  
argument. Josh sometimes sided with CJ, sometimes with Toby, but most of all he  
found himself not caring enough to get involved. "Just out of curiosity," he  
asked, his words pinging against the palpable tension in the room, "what if a  
condemned prisoner needed a heart transplant? Would we give him one, then kill  
him?"  
  
CJ shot him a baleful look. "What the hell, Josh?"  
  
"Just curious. Plus, you know some pundit is going to make a remark about it, so  
we might as well be prepared."  
  
"Curiosity and preparation aside, I'm going to have to come up with something to  
tell the reporters in about an hour, so any help you can give me would be, you  
know..." She poked Toby in the shoulder with her glasses. "...helpful."  
  
"Speaking of helpful," Toby said as he backed toward the door, "the President  
wants us to keep our ears to the ground about Charlie's reaction, what he's  
going to do."  
  
CJ sighed, her shoulders slumping. Even this early in the day, she looked  
exhausted. "I'll see what I can find out. We don't talk all that much."  
  
"Not since he sawed the legs off your desk and crazy-glued your phone together,"  
Josh smirked. Toby smacked him in the back of the head. "Ow!"  
  
"I'm in my office working on the State of the Union," Toby said, shaking his  
hand out. "Josh will be doing something far less important. But be that as it  
may, let us know if there's something you need."  
  
"It's too early to drink," CJ said, her words crisply enunciated, "so check with  
me this afternoon. Oh, wait, you're taking the kids to the doctor, aren't you?"  
  
Josh was endlessly amused at how Toby always stood up a little straighter and  
looked people in the eye when he talked about his children. "That's at three. It  
should only take a little while, and I'll come back right after."  
  
CJ was already waving them off, fumbling for the pencil she kept tucked behind  
her right ear. Josh left Toby without another word and strode back to his  
bullpen.  
  
Donna was at her desk, absent-mindedly licking the flap of an envelope. Josh  
leaned against the file cabinet. "Are you okay?" he asked.  
  
Her eyes, when she finally looked at him, were a little unfocused. "What do you  
mean?"  
  
"Well, you seemed a little off your game in there, then Toby called me in about  
the thing with Charlie--"  
  
"I heard," Donna said, frowning. "Is he going to be okay?"  
  
That was the question, all right, but Josh had no answer for it. Instead of  
saying anything, he just cocked his head to one side. "What were you asking me  
about, before?"  
  
Donna pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. "I need a couple of days medical  
leave. Jack's going to be here for a week and I was hoping to take care of it  
while he's here."  
  
Jack Reese had been returned Stateside to a post in Maryland - all was evidently  
forgiven for his outburst to the press - and was still seeing Donna whenever he  
could get into town. Josh felt his blood pressure rising. "This has to do with  
Jack?"  
  
Crimson spots stood out on her cheeks and she folded her arms across her chest.  
"I don't think you get to ask me that question."  
  
He didn't care what she thought. What was driving him over the edge was what he  
was now thinking. "Medical leave that involves Jack?" he hissed.  
  
"That's none of your business, Josh." Her eyes brimmed with tears and she  
hunched over her desk. "Please. Just let me send over someone from OEOB and--"  
  
He cut her off, his face drawn. "Do whatever you need to do, Donna," he said,  
turning on his heel and walking away, his steps falling in time with the panicky  
beat of his heart.  
  
Somehow he ended up in Toby's office, where Toby and Will were engaged in an  
unpleasantly heated debate over what Will called Ritenour's "legal leg to stand  
on." Will turned to Josh and began to reiterate his points, but the words  
slipped away, unheard.  
  
"Josh? Are you with us?" Will asked when whatever question he had asked drew no  
reply.  
  
Will was a good guy, despite his bizarre defection to Bingo Bob's Traveling  
Circus. He was smart and funny and kind, all the things Sam was, but he was not  
Sam. And what Josh wanted to say was something he'd freely say to Sam - but it  
wasn't something he could entrust to Will Bailey.  
  
"Will, would you let us have the room?" Toby asked with more politeness than  
usual. Will started to say something to Josh on his way out, then stopped  
himself and kept going, closing the door behind him.  
  
Toby had been sitting on the sofa but he stood up and went to Josh, standing  
right in front of him. Josh couldn't look at him. He lowered his head and put  
his hand over his eyes.  
  
"Josh," Toby murmured, "is it Charlie? Did he talk to you about this?"  
  
"No, I haven't heard anything." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't even know  
why I came in here."  
  
"If you don't know, then I certainly don't." The words were caustic but the tone  
was concerned. "Just spit it out, whatever it is."  
  
"Nah. It's nothing." That was probably a mistake. Toby always called him on it  
when he used that phrase.  
  
Yes, it was a mistake, because Toby's brow was more furrowed than Josh had seen  
it in a long time. "There's no such thing as 'no big deal' with you, so just  
spit it out." Toby gestured for Josh to continue.  
  
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Donna asked me for a few days  
off."  
  
Concern turned to annoyance as if someone had flipped a switch on Toby's face.  
"She needs a few days off, so you come tell me? What, you need to get Ginger or  
Bonnie to fill in?"  
  
"That's not it. Donna's not taking vacation days - she's taking sick days."  
  
"She's taken sick days before. What's the problem this time?"  
  
"It's not that she's taking sick days. It's...I don't know what to call it..."  
He trailed off.  
  
Toby was looking at him, palms upward, shaking his head. "Josh, what's the  
matter with her?"  
  
He had to say it. He had to turn the ugly thoughts in his head into words. Had  
to make it real. Had to break his own heart.  
  
"She's having an abortion."  
  
***   
End part 1  
More to come tomorrow!  
Feedback or pointy sticks welcome: marguerite@swbell.net  
Back to West Wing.  
  
  
  



	2. Part 2

Part 2/4  
  
***  
  
Toby walked over to the desk, set his papers down with exaggerated care, then  
looked over at Josh. "Is it yours?"  
  
"Toby!" Shocked, Josh took a step backward and put his hand over his heart.  
"Where'd that come from?"  
  
"The question's not completely out of left field, Josh."  
  
"Like hell it's not!" Josh exclaimed. "That's...that's ridiculous, that's  
insane, that's--"  
  
Toby interrupted over the babble of Josh's voice. "You've had a rough time  
lately. Amy's out of your life, you're unsure of your footing around the White  
House, and in the midst of all this upheaval, you're in constant contact with a  
beautiful woman who cares a great deal about you."  
  
Josh was still too stunned to say much. "I can't tell you how wrong you are," he  
whispered.  
  
"About what part?"  
  
Putting his hands on his hips, Josh stared Toby down. "About the whole thing,  
about anything that could link me in that way with Donna." The words tasted sour  
in his mouth. He couldn't continue to look Toby in the eye. "There's never been  
anything inappropriate between us."  
  
"She sat on your lap on the way to the inaugural," Toby said, holding up one  
finger. He added another finger. "There are pictures of her wearing your coat,  
also from the inaugural."  
  
"Yeah, and she's had a key to my apartment since Rosslyn, but that doesn't mean  
anything. Hell, you have a key to my apartment - imagine where discussing that  
could lead us!"  
  
"Please," Toby said, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and  
forefinger, "don't ever feed me a visual like that again."  
  
When Josh laughed, his chest felt tight. "So anyway, the baby's not mine."  
  
"Okay, then," Toby said. He glanced away from Josh and picked up a pencil.  
Twirling it idly between his fingers, he asked, "Are you okay with that?"  
  
Toby's question put into words the vague uneasiness Josh had been feeling for  
the last half hour. No. Not okay with that, not even a little. He had a sudden  
urge to find Jack Reese and tie his--  
  
Josh shook his head. "I don't get to have an opinion one way or the other," he  
said softly, trying to keep his voice under control.  
  
"That's crap," Toby replied with a rising inflection. "I know that's crap,  
because if Andrea had chosen someone else to father her children, it would have  
made me feel...superfluous. Inadequate. Unwanted. All the things that are  
written on your face in 48 point font, Josh."  
  
He couldn't stop himself from wiping one hand across his cheek. "I don't feel  
any of those things," he said too quickly and too loudly. He expected a retort  
from Toby, but there was nothing but silence in the room for several moments.  
  
Finally, Toby sat down on the sofa and nodded at him. "If that's how you want  
it."  
  
Josh ran his hand through his hair, every muscle in his body twitching with  
unexpressable anger. "It's not how I want it. How could I possibly want to find  
Donna having sex with Jack Reese and getting pregnant and having an abortion?  
This isn't what I wanted for her." He stopped himself, breathing rapidly,  
wishing with all his might that he could grab the words out of the air and  
dispose of them.  
  
"For her?" Toby asked gently. "Or for you?"  
  
It hurt too much to talk, so Josh just shrugged and lowered his head.  
  
Toby had the courtesy to look away while Josh collected his thoughts. "She's  
going to need to sit down with CJ," Toby said, almost apologetically, "so they  
can make make sure this stays quiet. If you don't think it's something you can  
manage, then I'll--"  
  
"Nah, I'll do it," Josh said, trying to sound nonchalant even though he really  
hadn't seen this coming. "I'll talk to her later on. She's pretty pissed right  
now."  
  
"CJ's going to be none too happy, either," Toby commented. "Although she's the  
least of your worries right now."  
  
Josh sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Any time CJ's the least of our  
worries, we're having a pretty bad time of it."  
  
A hint of a smile brightened Toby's features. "That's true," he murmured.  
"Better you than me."  
  
"It'll be your turn soon enough."  
  
"It's never my turn," Toby countered, setting his pen down and folding his hands  
in his lap. "I am always in CJ's good graces." The almost-smile faded and he  
looked straight at Josh. "For what it's worth, Josh, I'm sorry."  
  
There it was again, the unbidden, lead weight in his chest. "Thanks," Josh  
managed to say as he struggled for air, then he left Toby's office without  
another word.  
  
***  
  
Will thought that a time might come when the anteroom to the Oval Office would  
not conjure up the horror of his first Presidential encounter. The very sight of  
Debbie Fiderer's desk was enough to make his palms go clammy. When the office  
door opened, he always found that his tongue was trying very, very hard to stick  
to the roof of his mouth. Maybe this time would be different.  
  
Charlie opened the door and exited with a young woman at his side. Will tested  
his body's responses. Hands, so wet they have to be surreptitiously wiped: yes.  
Tongue, glued to hard palate: yes. Working his jaw from side to side, Will  
nodded at Charlie, who pulled his companion forward. "Will, this is my sister,  
Deanna. This is Will Bailey - he works for the Vice-President."  
  
Deanna was half a head taller than Charlie. She moved her whippet-thin body with  
the ease of a natural athlete; Will recalled hearing that she was going to  
college on a basketball scholarship. "Nice to meet you," he said, hoping his  
hand was passably dry as he extended it to be shaken.  
  
The answering grip was firm, with no sign of Presidential Flameout Moisture.  
Even this teenaged girl was unfazed. She smiled down at Will. "I've heard about  
you. You're the guy who's gonna get Bingo Bob elected in four years. Has Toby  
stopped sticking pins in your voodoo doll yet?"  
  
"Not so you'd notice," Will sighed, although he noted with amusement that  
Charlie elbowed his sister for the "Bingo Bob" sobriquet. "But thanks for  
asking. Eventually he'll get over it. Or run out of pins."  
  
"Don't bet on it. He's still ticked at me over a game of horse from two years  
ago."  
  
"My little sister kicks ass," Charlie said mildly. He looked proud of her, but  
there was something else on his mind, something that made his eyes look sad and  
tired. "Anyway, the President's on the phone with the Chinese ambassador and he  
asked me to have you call Debbie later to reschedule. Sorry you came all the way  
over here."  
  
"From the OEOB? Not a problem." He hesitated for a moment before asking, "Is  
there something going on with Bernard Ritenour? I mean, feel free to tell me to  
mind my own business, but it just seems as if..." He couldn't put his finger on  
it.  
  
Charlie and Deanna exchanged glances. "Will's a good guy," Charlie told her,  
sotto voce, and Deanna nodded in response. "I don't want to talk out here. Can  
we use Josh's office?"  
  
"Where's Josh?" Will asked.  
  
"Roosevelt Room, talking to a group of students from Idaho." Charlie led the  
way, Deanna loping gracefully alongside while Will took up the rear.  
  
"He's still being punished?" Putting Josh in a room full of teenagers was just  
this side of cruel.  
  
"It's hard to say," Charlie said as he went into Josh's office. "Some might  
think that it was the Idaho group being punished, if you get my drift."  
  
"I think I do." Will stood against the bookcase, not wanting to commit the sin  
of taking Josh's chair. "So."  
  
"So," Charlie parroted. "You know about Ritenour, right? I mean, our connection  
to him?"  
  
Will pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and nodded. He had been  
eight when his mother died, but that was through illness, not violence, and he  
wasn't left to fend for anyone. He couldn't imagine Charlie's life, or Deanna's,  
in those first months. "I've heard he wants to see you."  
  
"Right." Deanna's voice was sharp, louder than it really needed to be in this  
little office. "President Bartlet wanted to weigh in on the situation."  
  
"Which is surprising," Charlie offered before Will could ask the question,  
"because he's not usually that involved. With us."  
  
"May I ask what his opinion was?"  
  
"He agrees with Charlie," Deanna said, rolling her eyes. "That we should go  
visit him, but that we shouldn't witness the execution."  
  
"Whereas Deanna wants to do both. She wants to tell him off, then she wants to  
watch the actual event." Charlie folded his arms. "I'm willing to meet with the  
guy, let him apologize, whatever. But this other thing, well, I don't know." He  
looked at Will. "What's your take on it?"  
  
Will shrugged. "I'm not completely sure what to say." He stopped, mulling the  
story over in his mind, then decided to tell them. "I saw an execution when I  
was in Zimbabwe - it was still called Rhodesia, back then - with my parents."  
  
Deanna's mouth hung open. "You saw an execution? When you were a kid?"  
  
"It's not like we were invited - we were walking down a road from an  
ambassador's house, and a man was being hanged from a tree, right there. The  
interpreter who was traveling with us said it was a murder case, although I  
don't remember who had been killed. But I remember the fear in the condemned  
man's eyes and the way the people swarmed around him, throwing dirt and rocks  
and screaming at him until the moment his body stopped jerking."  
  
He paused, surprised that his hands were describing the scene in mid-air. "Then  
it was just...silent. He was alive, then he was dead, and nothing really  
changed. People turned around and walked the same direction we were going, as if  
nothing happened." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When  
he opened them again, he took in Deanna's angry face and Charlie's indecisive  
posture. "It was more horrible than you can imagine. Not just the taking of a  
human life, but because the people who saw it weren't changed by it at all."  
  
"Except you," Charlie said softly. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have remembered it  
all these years. I'm afraid of what it would do to me."  
  
"You don't have to go!" Deanna's shrill declaration startled Will. "I don't need  
you to go and hold my hand. You're not my protector, not anymore."  
  
Charlie shook his head. "It's not about that. I just think that we need to  
present a unified front - either we both talk to him, or neither. Either we both  
go see the execution, or neither of us does. That's the bottom line for me."  
  
"Bottom line for me is that this man killed our mother in cold blood. He very  
nearly destroyed our lives!" Her hands flailed as if she needed her entire body  
to express her outrage. "He's going to die whether we go or not. I say we get  
closure. I say we watch the state be a hell of a lot more merciful with him than  
he was with Mom!" Suddenly she grabbed Charlie's arm and held tightly to it.  
"Don't you understand? I have to see him die!"  
  
Charlie freed himself from her grasp and wrapped his arms around her. "Dee, I do  
understand. Really, I do. But it won't bring her back."  
  
"He's right," Will added softly, wishing he knew these people well enough to be  
more comfort to them.  
  
Deanna shook her head, pulling away from her brother's embrace. "I'm not a  
child, guys. You think I believe that Ritenour's death will bring my mother  
back? Of course I don't. Nothing can bring her back, but by God I'll at least  
have the satisfaction of seeing that bastard's last breath."  
  
There didn't seem to be anything to say about that, at least on Will's part.  
Charlie was looking at Deanna as if seeing something deep inside of her that was  
only now becoming visible. He lowered his head, sighing. "If this is really what  
you need, then I'll do it. I just don't want you to feel, later on..." He  
trailed off, glancing at Will for backup.  
  
This wasn't his argument, wasn't anything close to any situation he could  
imagine for his family. Nonetheless, he had to try. Stepping closer, he said, "I  
think Charlie's afraid that, later on, you might see yourself as being an  
instrument of a murder."  
  
Whatever Deanna's retort would have been was lost when Josh walked into the  
office. "What's going on?" he asked, although by the half-undone tie and wild  
hair, it was obvious that he was not really going to listen to any answer.  
  
"We're just borrowing a space. We're done," Charlie said, abruptly taking Deanna  
by the hand and pulling her out of the room.  
  
Josh turned his head as they passed, then looked back at Will. "This is about  
Ritenour, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes." Will took his glasses off and moved his head from side to side, loosening  
the muscles in his neck. "It's a tricky situation. The sister is set on going,  
but Charlie finds it...distasteful."  
  
"I'll talk to him later," Josh said, already looking back out into the bullpen.  
"Hey, if you see Donna out there, would you tell her--there she is."  
  
Will braced himself for the inevitable bellow, but it didn't come. Instead, Josh  
walked over to Donna's desk and quietly asked her to go into his office. If he  
had not been so concerned for Charlie, Will would have thought the situation  
odd. Instead, he gave them a small wave before starting back to the OEOB.  
  
***  
  
Donna looked as uncomfortable as Josh felt. She hovered near the closed door as  
if she might bolt at the first wrong word.  
  
And Josh knew that almost any of his words, right now, would probably be wrong.  
  
"Angela Blake," he began, fidgeting with his watch as he spoke, "was incredibly  
impressed with you. She's making sure you get a lot of credit. Which has to be a  
nice change from what I usually do." He felt lightheaded with nerves, nerves  
that were fraying even more because Donna was not bantering with him. On the  
other hand, could he really expect that of her at a time like this?  
  
"Josh, I have about a million things--"  
  
He cut her off, unable to bear the unaccustomed dullness in her voice. "She's  
putting you into a higher profile than you're used to having. I don't think you  
know how much buzz there is about you right now."  
  
Donna didn't ask for a raise. She just stood there, arms crossed, head lowered.  
  
Josh wondered if it were possible to run out of saliva.  
  
"Anyway, with the new interest in you and the high profile that's creating, Toby  
and I think you should talk to CJ." He took a breath when Donna did not respond.  
"About, you know, the thing."  
  
"The...thing?" Donna repeated, incredulity creeping into her voice. "You talked  
about it with Toby?"  
  
"Yeah." He rubbed his forehead. "Look, that's probably something you should kick  
me around for later, but right now, you need to talk to CJ about the best way to  
handle the, uh, situation."  
  
A flush worked its way up Donna's pallid face. "You don't mean to tell me that  
the press would...at a time like this?"  
  
He had never wanted so badly to take her in his arms and protect her from the  
universe. Instead, he reached out and put his hand on her arm. "It's exactly at  
a time like this when the press would strike, Donna."  
  
She hunched further over, clearly fighting back tears. She put two fingers  
against her lips and lowered her head until her hair obscured her face. "I hate  
to say it," she whispered, "but you're right."  
  
Josh knew that he would personally scrape the ink off every copy of every  
newspaper, if need be, or hold Danny Concannon upside down from the Truman  
Balcony. That image cheered him enough to open the door and say, "Let's go talk  
to CJ."  
  
Donna let him walk with her, but at the door to CJ's office she shook her head.  
"You can't come in here."  
  
"Why the hell not? It's not like you've got a secret from me!" His indignation  
was tamped down when he looked at Donna's pained, embarrassed eyes. "Oh. Girl  
stuff."  
  
"Very much so." She was already sounding like Donna again, enough for Josh to  
feel safe in leaving her with CJ.  
  
Slowly, aimlessly, he went back to his office to compose a note of apology for  
the teacher whose students he had just badgered. He made it as far as "Dear Mr.  
Altick: You are to be commended for shepherding such a large number of morons  
this far without losing any," when his phone rang.  
  
"Josh Lyman," he said as he fumbled with the receiver with one hand and tossed  
his note away with the other.  
  
Carol's voice was crisp on the other end of the line. "CJ would like to see you.  
Now would be good."  
  
"What did I - never mind." He hung up and walked briskly back to CJ's office.  
Donna was talking softly to Carol, who had her arm around her shoulders. "How'd  
it--"  
  
Donna, her face pale but composed, brushed past Josh without a word. "CJ wants  
to see me?" he asked Carol, feeling his heart begin to race.  
  
"Oh, absolutely," Carol grumbled, cocking her eyebrow at him with a malevolence  
he had not seen in years. "You are absolutely right about that. Go on in."  
  
Josh entered, coiled with anxiety, tapping his hands together as CJ finished a  
phone call. She seemed to loom over him, even with a desk between them.  
  
"Yes. Check on that and get back to me. Thanks." She strode over to Josh,  
unsmiling. "About an hour ago, Toby called me and said Donna needed to see me  
before having an abortion," she said. "And you sent her in to me."  
  
"How'd it go?" he asked, only to find himself crying out in sudden pain as CJ's  
clipboard collided with his head. "Ow!"  
  
"You're a pig," she snapped.  
  
"I'm a what?"  
  
"Pig. Jackass. Any number of farm animals noteworthy for their obstinance and/or  
stupidity." She took a breath. "She's not having an abortion, Josh."  
  
"She's not?" he sighed. The world snapped back into focus for him. "That's a  
relief."  
  
"It really isn't."  
  
"It's not a relief that she's not pregnant?"  
  
CJ's expression softened. "Not as much as you'd think." She set the clipboard  
down on her desk and inclined her head toward him. "Come here."  
  
Despite the sore spot on his head, Josh inched closer. Any relief he had been  
feeling turned back into apprehension when CJ stroked the back of his hand.  
"God, CJ, did she have a miscarriage? What happened?"  
  
"It's more complicated than that. So I need you not to go completely off the  
rails right now, okay?"  
  
He couldn't speak. He nodded and waited for the blow.  
  
"Donna's going to have some exploratory surgery on Monday." Compassion and worry  
played across her fine features as she let Josh process the information. Her  
hand tightened around his.  
  
"There's a lump in her breast."  
  
***   
End Part 2/4  
  
Feedback is welcome at marguerite@swbell.net or Marguerite@operamail.com.  
  
  
  



	3. Part 3

Part 3  
  
***  
  
Josh didn't understand. He knew the words, of course: their meanings, and how  
they fit together. It was their implication that he could not comprehend.  
  
"Are you saying it's a tumor? It's cancer?"  
  
CJ slipped her arm around his shoulders. She smelled like the apple-mint candies  
she kept stealing from Carol's desk. "She honestly doesn't know for certain.  
There was a preliminary aspiration that didn't give a clear result, so she's  
going in for surgery. Once it's out, they can determine if it's..."  
  
If you don't say the word, then it's not true. Josh thought of his father, and  
how neither he nor his mother would actually say "cancer" aloud, not even the  
second time. It was unspeakable.  
  
"How does this tie in with Jack?" Josh asked, puzzled.  
  
CJ stiffened. "He's the one who spotted it. Felt it. When he was here a couple  
of weeks ago. Donna was sure it was nothing, but she went to the doctor anyway  
and it looks more complicated."  
  
He'd had his hands on her. Had made love to her. But if he hadn't, this might  
have gone undetected. No, Josh couldn't go there now.  
  
"She's scared, Josh," CJ said quietly. "I mean, seriously scared."  
  
The shame was razor-edged, cutting deeply. "Oh, my God, I am such a schmuck." He  
ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head and blowing out a breath. "I've  
got to talk to her."  
  
"An apology wouldn't be completely out of line, you know." CJ hugged him. "I  
think she'll accept it. Especially if you still look so pathetic and contrite  
when you get to her."  
  
"I look pathetic?"  
  
CJ gave him an appraising look from head to toe. She smirked. "Never more so.  
Get out there and talk to her before you get your natural whatever back."  
  
He nodded, his head heavy and his neck stiff and sore. On the way out the door,  
he turned to her. "Thanks. For getting to the bottom of it."  
  
"It's what I do, Joshua, it's what I do. Now, go abase yourself - I haven't  
finished yelling at Toby yet." She waved him away.  
  
On the way out he stole a piece of apple-mint candy for himself, then leaned  
back over Carol's candy dish to pick out a second one for Donna.  
  
***  
  
Bartlet hated the distance enforced by the size of his desk. He felt  
uncomfortable, as if he couldn't sit down at it and hold a discreet conversation  
with someone who might as well have been across a chasm. When Charlie came into  
the office, therefore, the President got up and took his usual seat in the  
center of the room. Charlie took the offered chair opposite him.  
  
"Leo's coming in a minute," Bartlet said. "Did Deanna get home all right?"  
  
"She hasn't called, but I assume she's either home or at the gym." Charlie's  
face was weary and his shoulders were slumped.  
  
"Working off some of that anger?"  
  
Charlie shrugged. "Honestly, Mr. President, I don't think there are enough  
freeweights in the world for that. And some of that anger is directed at me."  
  
"Yeah, I figured." Bartlet grimaced at the recollection of Deanna's strident  
objections to his well-reasoned arguments. "She got in a couple of good shots at  
Leo, too."  
  
"That, she did," Leo said as he entered, straightening his tie. "Sorry, I was on  
the phone with Toby, who's doing quite a song and dance about the whole  
artificial leg thing."  
  
"How's that going?" Bartlet asked, nodding toward the tea tray in hopes that Leo  
would bring it over to the table. There wasn't an unpleasant discussion in the  
world that couldn't be made better with tea. He would prefer whiskey, truth be  
told, but there was Leo to consider.  
  
Leo set the antique the silver service down with great care. "It's as if he's  
trying to get a stay, regardless of his denials. Or maybe trying to get the  
White House involved by bringing up Charlie and Deanna." Leo poured a cup and  
handed it to the President, then started one for Charlie. "Or maybe it's exactly  
what he says it is, that he's genuinely repentant and wants to get punished,  
only he wants to do it like a man. Who knows?"  
  
Charlie put a lump of sugar and a lemon wedge in his cup and stirred it,  
breathing in the delicate aroma. "That's one of the things we want to ask him."  
  
"So you're going to the prison? That's definite?" Leo asked, pausing with the  
sugar tongs just above the bowl.  
  
"I don't see any way out of it."  
  
Bartlet shook his head. "But is it what you want?"  
  
"I don't know," Charlie replied evenly. "At this point, I'm so tired and  
emotional that I wouldn't trust myself to choose what to eat for dinner.  
However, it's what Deanna seems to want." He stirred his tea again,  
absent-mindedly tapping the spoon against the china. "Anyway, that's as much as  
I need. As for me, I'd be perfectly happy never to lay eyes on the son of a  
bitch. Oh - excuse me," he added, ducking to avoid their eyes.  
  
Leo took a sip of tea and sat forward in his chair. "Not a problem. Especially  
under the circumstances."  
  
"Thanks. Monday's going to be been a hard day, and it looks like it's about to  
get harder."  
  
"What do you mean?" Bartlet asked, bracing himself for whatever might be  
barreling down at him.  
  
"CJ just told me that Donna's having surgery on Monday. They, uh, found a lump  
in her breast."  
  
"Good God," Bartlet sighed. "Poor kid must be scared half to death." He saw  
Leo's face fall and realized that his friend would be equally worried about  
Josh's reaction. "Should we do anything?"  
  
"I wouldn't," Charlie said. "She's pretty freaked as it is, and Josh isn't  
likely to be what you'd call a calming presence."  
  
Leo shook his head, a hint of a smile curling his lips. "Don't write him off.  
He's got untapped resources. He's there when you need him."  
  
Bartlet wondered where Leo's defense of Josh had been during the "Senatorial  
Scandal," and if it had hurt him to offer to sacrifice Josh. Abraham with his  
knife at Isaac's throat, stopped not by God but by Abbey. There was some  
fascinating irony in there, someplace.  
  
"We were going to cure cancer," Bartlet mused aloud. "Remember when we had Sam  
on that for the State of the Union? What a shame we couldn't make it real."  
Finishing his tea, he put the saucer on the tray and rose, Charlie and Leo  
following his example. "Anyway, keep me posted on Donna and let me know if  
there's anything I can do. For her or for Josh. It's hard to be the guy people  
depend on to be strong. You know that all too well, don't you?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Charlie murmured.  
  
Bartlet clasped his shoulder. "You've been that guy for so long, Charlie, and  
you've done a terrific job. Deanna's a remarkable young woman. She'll come  
through this."  
  
"Yes, sir," Charlie said again. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get some papers  
together for Debbie."  
  
"Of course, of course." Bartlet watched Charlie leave the room, head hanging,  
and turned to Leo. He didn't need to say how much pain he felt, not to his old  
friend, who gave him a grim smile and a nod. "Remember, I told you there'd been  
a time when he said he'd want to do it himself? Now, he's not so sure. He's  
changed a lot."  
  
"That he has," Leo agreed. "He's an extraordinary person. I don't know where  
we'd be without him, I really don't."  
  
Bartlet let the silence wash over them for a moment as he reflected on the years  
he'd spent with Charlie, which reminded him of Josh, which reminded him of  
Donna. "Maybe I should talk to Donna," he said.  
  
Leo shook his head. "Don't. Last thing she needs right now is another man  
telling her something's going to be okay when it really isn't."  
  
"You're right. And since I can't do anything for people right here in this very  
building, then perhaps I should turn my attention to the rest of the nation."  
  
"Don't take it to heart, sir. Any of it. You'll let Charlie work it out for  
himself, and you'll find a way to let Donna know you're concerned without  
cornering her."  
  
Smiling, Bartlet got out of the chair and walked back to his desk. "Sage advice,  
my friend. I'll follow it to the best of my ability. Listen, I'm going back to  
the Residence in a few minutes - don't stick around here too late, okay?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Good night." Leo went through the connecting door and closed it  
behind him. Bartlet sat down behind the enormous desk, contemplating distances  
real and imagined.  
  
***  
  
Donna was sitting at Josh's desk, scrolling through something on his computer.  
The background of the website was pale green, reflecting its color on Donna's  
face and turning it a sickly gray. Josh shuddered. She had cancer. She was sick,  
being eaten away by something.  
  
Or not. CJ said no one was sure. But. Still.  
  
"I'll be out of here in a minute. I didn't want to look this stuff up where  
people could see."  
  
"I'm people," Josh said, wincing at the tension in his voice.  
  
It was worth it to see Donna smile, even if it was just for a moment. "There's  
room for debate on that point," she said as she clicked on another link,  
scowled, then closed the browser. "What do you need?"  
  
"This is my office, I--" He shook his head. "I'm not looking for an argument. I  
came to say that I got it way, way wrong and I'm sorry." He put his hands out,  
palms upward. "About all of it."  
  
She pursed her lips. "Don't," she said.  
  
"Don't, what?"  
  
"Don't look at me like that."  
  
Perplexed, he shook his head again. "Like what?"  
  
"Right in the eye, so you won't accidentally glance at my chest and wonder which  
one I'm going to lose!" Her voice was way too high, too tight. Too close to  
hysteria. She knew it, too, he could tell, because she clasped her hands  
together and took a deep breath.  
  
He ran the few short steps to where she was sitting and crouched beside her. Her  
hands felt like ice as he took them gently between his. "I'll look wherever you  
tell me," he said, his throat thick with fear. "It's just that I don't know what  
to do. And since that never happens, I don't know what to do about it, meaning  
there's still another thing I don't know."  
  
Even though Donna laughed, a single tear slipped down her cheek, careening  
toward her nose before falling on top of their clasped hands. "I'm sorry. You  
didn't deserve that. It's just that everyone who knows keeps looking at me,  
square in the eye, then dropping down and turning all red, and I know what  
they're thinking: left or right?" One corner of her mouth turned up. "Left, in  
case you're wondering."  
  
"You don't know that for certain," Josh protested. "CJ said they're going to do  
tests, that it might not be so bad..."  
  
"It's not just that, Josh. There are lymph nodes that have to come out, and  
there's pain and numbness and God knows how long it'll be before I can DO  
anything."  
  
"It's going to be okay," Josh said, then he frowned. "That was so absolutely  
lame."  
  
"Know what's even lamer than that? We're the government, so we don't have to  
abide by the Women's Breast Health Act or whatever they call it."  
  
"There's a--"  
  
"Shut up." Donna pulled her hands free and used one to point at a folder lying  
on Josh's desk. "It says that any insurance that covers mastectomy has to cover  
reconstruction. Only ours doesn't. Because we wrote the law but we aren't bound  
by it."  
  
"So they'll pay for the surgery and whatever treatment is necessary, but not the  
reconstruction."  
  
She looked balefully at him. "It's the same company that wanted you to get  
estimates before having your lung repaired, so can you honestly express  
surprise?"  
  
"Not really." Josh looked down at the floor, then back up into Donna's enormous,  
sad eyes. "I'll take care of it," he declared. "They say that stress can bring  
on illness, and God knows I'ved given you enough stress to come down with eleven  
different diseases."  
  
"Oh, Josh," Donna sniffed, "that's so insanely sweet. But I'm going to handle  
it. I can't have people saying you paid for my boob job."  
  
"One-hundred-and-first senator and conoisseur of plastic surgery," he quipped.  
"That'll be my legacy."  
  
Her attempt at a watery smile broke his heart. "We'll have matching scars," she  
said very softly.  
  
He remembered the heat of angry tears the first time the bandages came off and  
he had seen the damage done to his body. The thought of Donna standing in front  
of a mirror, looking...he forced the image out of his brain and cleared his  
throat. "'It doesn't matter what kind of scar you have,'" he said, quoting her  
from that very day, "'it's what's inside that people will love.' A very smart  
woman told me that, once."  
  
Donna blushed, the first normal color he had seen on her face. "I didn't think  
you were listening."  
  
He had hung on to every word, but he could not bring himself to tell her that.  
Instead, he touched her damp cheek with a finger and gave her the best smile he  
could manage.  
  
A shadow fell over them. A literal shadow, and when they looked up, Josh saw  
that Toby was standing in the doorway. "Sorry. To interrupt. I can come back."  
  
"No, no, it's fine. What do you need?" Josh asked, getting unsteadily to his  
feet.  
  
"Someone called CJ a while ago to say that they'd donate a prosthetic leg to  
Ritenour if they could get it back after the execution."  
  
This was becoming a circus. "That's a little grotesque. What did you tell them?"  
  
"I said that executions don't work like that, so we'll see what CJ makes of it."  
  
"Yeah, good answer." Josh could see Toby shifting from one foot to the other,  
his hands clasped behind his back. "Anything else?"  
  
Calmly, his voice laden with sympathy, Toby turned to Donna. "I'm sorry about  
the mixup, earlier. And even sorrier to know what's really going on. I know it's  
not...enough, but if there's anything I can do, you know you can ask me, right?"  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, you can tell the government to quit passing  
laws but exempting themselves from them."  
  
Josh saw the confusion on Toby's face. "She says that our insurance won't cover  
reconstruction."  
  
"Because the Women's Health and Cancer Act of 1998 isn't something the U.S.   
government actually participates in?" Toby sighed. "That doesn't surprise me. In   
their defense, however, I have to say that they did pay for Andi's in vitro  
procedures."  
  
"When you were married," Donna put in. Josh steeled himself for what he knew was  
coming next.  
  
"And the ones that produced Huck and Molly," Toby said, obviously not  
recognizing that he had just stepped on about sixty land mines.  
  
Donna stood up and gestured wildly. "You and Andi got to have multiple tries at  
having a baby, at what, twenty thousand dollars each time, when I can't get my  
body put back the way it was to begin with?"  
  
The sympathy in Toby's voice had an edge to it. "Donna, I understand your  
outrage, and your point has a great deal of merit. But I have no control over  
the way the Federal Government exempts itself, nor do I have control over what  
our insurance company chooses to cover or not."  
  
"I don't care! No, Josh," Donna added, shaking off the calming hand Josh placed  
on her arm, "this is ridiculous. They're not even married. This isn't about a  
married couple trying to have a baby - although I'd debate whether that's health  
or lifestyle, even if they were - it's about Toby's desperation to get Andi back  
and how it overrode his common sense."  
  
Toby's eyes flashed fire. Josh tried to get his attention, tried to communicate  
that Donna was distraught, that he shouldn't take any of this personally. Toby  
kept his voice dangerously neutral. "I don't think that's any of your concern,  
Donna," he mumbled.  
  
"It becomes my concern when you pull out photos of your twins, who were only  
born because insurance would pay for their conception! It's my concern that they  
spent so much money giving you a pair of designer babies that they can't afford  
to give me something approximating the breast I was born with!"  
  
"I am sorry," Toby murmured into the agonizing silence that followed. "I know  
you're under a lot of stress, and that you're afraid. I just think this is a  
conversation that we'd rather forget."  
  
Tears streamed down Donna's face. "Toby, I know you and Andi love your children.  
I'm not saying they shouldn't have been born. God, please, you know I don't mean  
that." She brushed past Josh and walked up to Toby, putting her arms around his  
waist and burying her face in his shoulder. He looked so shocked that Josh would  
have chuckled if his heart wasn't so perilously close to shattering.  
  
Toby hugged Donna very gently. "It is positively archaic that a woman's body is  
only considered worth repairing if it can't bear a child," he murmured into her  
hair. His gaze connected with Josh, conveying helplessness.  
  
Josh walked up to them and pried Donna loose. She gave them a weak smile, then  
went back to her cubicle so they would not see how hard she was struggling to  
regain her composure. "You're right," Josh said softly, watching Donna's  
hesitant steps, "and that's something we need to talk about. Just not tonight."  
  
Nodding, Toby patted Josh on the shoulder. "I shouldn't have taken the bait like  
that."  
  
"Nah, it's your kids. I'd have been disappointed in you if you hadn't." He  
glanced at Donna, then back at Toby. "Still. I wish we could do something."  
  
Josh had seen this look on Toby's face before: the one that said his fine mind  
was ten steps ahead before Josh was even out of his seat. Something was up, and  
Josh felt part of the burden easing even as Toby started talking to him.  
  
"I'm going to get some guidance. I'll talk to you later," Toby said firmly  
before turning around and walking over to Donna's desk. He smiled at her with  
more warmth than Josh had seen him show in a long time, then strode purposefully  
toward the lobby.  
  
***  
  
Sunsets from the portico were a beautiful sight. Bartlet draped his arm around  
Charlie's shoulders as they watched this one together in silence.  
  
***  
  
"CJ! CJ! CJ!"  
  
She called on Mike, who asked, "Does Charlie Young have a statement about the  
execution of Bernard Ritenour?"  
  
"Not that I'm aware of."  
  
"Will he and his sister be meeting with Ritenour? I have sources--"  
  
"Not that I'm aware of. Steve?"  
  
***  
  
Josh hit the power button on the remote with more force than necessary, putting  
an abrupt end to the next reporter's question. He pushed aside the folder with  
the insurance information. He folded his arms on the desk, leaning forward  
little by little. Eventually he gave up and laid his head down, letting the  
darkness and silence surround him.  
  
***  
  
Toby sat near the end of the row in the back of the sanctuary. He had to crane  
his neck to see the Torah scroll be brought out of the ark and laid down for the  
reading. The rabbi draped it with the beautifully embroidered mantle. "Now, as  
is our custom, we will say a Mi Shebeirach for those in need of healing." He  
looked out into the congregation and Toby raised his hand. Before he could open  
his mouth, he heard a woman's familiar voice saying, "Donnatella Moss."  
  
He saw the men in the black suits before he saw the woman they were flanking.  
Immediately he stood, offering her the seat next to him. "I didn't know you were  
here, ma'am."  
  
"My husband said you'd be here," Abigail Bartlet whispered, turning her  
attention toward the pulpit, and all at once Toby knew that he'd found the  
guidance he needed.  
  
***   
End Part 3   
Feedback is sweeter than a sweet thing, sweet thing:  
marguerite@swbell.net or Marguerite@operamail.com  
  



	4. Part 4

Part 4  
  
  
Toby returned from services deep in thought. He shed his coat haphazardly on  
Bonnie's desk, almost daring it to stay there and not slither down to the floor.  
With an exhausted sigh, he unlocked the door to his office, opened it, and  
turned on the light.  
  
Charlie was sitting on the sofa, hands folded, one ankle crossed over the other  
knee. "Hey, Toby."  
  
"How long have you been in here? For that matter, how did you get in here?"  
  
"Come on, Toby," Charlie said reprovingly. Of course he would have a key to  
pretty much everything in the building.  
  
"Yeah." Toby took a seat on the edge of his desk, wishing he had something to  
hold in his hands. Without looking away from Charlie, he reached down and back  
until he found a pen. There.  
  
"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing here?" Charlie inquired, lifting his  
eyebrows.  
  
"I'm still marveling that you're in here at all. Besides, I can probably guess:  
Ritenour." Toby laid the pen across his palm and tapped it with each finger in  
turn. "You and Deanna are going to meet with him tomorrow, right?"  
  
Charlie hunched further into his suit coat. "Deanna's pretty determined."  
  
"And you? Are you determined?"  
  
The answer lacked any real fire. "He wants to meet with us."  
  
Toby shook his head. "Given that someone's going to Fed-Ex him a prosthesis so  
he can walk 'like a man' to a death chamber - a death chamber, I might add, that  
I should feel more conflicted about - I say don't give him anything he wants."  
  
"I figured you'd say that."  
  
"So why did you come here?"  
  
"The merry company," Charlie said dryly. "Hey, I hear Donna kicked you around a  
little bit, earlier."  
  
"Don't change the subject. And she didn't, really - I just felt it would be  
unchivalrous to keep the argument going when she was in such a distressed  
state." Toby spoke primly, staring at Charlie as if daring him to make a  
comment.  
  
Charlie grinned at him. "That was really gentlemanly of you. Josh made it sound  
a lot more like an ass-kicking."  
  
Before Toby had time to say anything in response, CJ stormed into the room and  
stood in front of the desk like a coiled ball of fury, her hands on her hips as  
she shifted her weight from foot to foot in a quick, anxious rhythm.  
  
"Speaking of ass-kicking," Toby muttered under his breath.  
  
"You guys are not going to believe this," CJ said, her voice dripping with  
contempt, "but Jack Reese has decided to absent himself from next week's  
festivities."  
  
"You are kidding me," Charlie said, eyes widening. "No way. He seems like such a  
good guy."  
  
"Good for nothing," declared CJ. "Evidently he and Donna were pretty much on  
their last legs, and he's decided that Donna would be better off with family at  
'a time like this.' I could kill him, Toby, I could kill him with my bare hands,  
then I could drop-kick him into next year and save him up for when I needed a  
punching bag!"  
  
When she came up for air, Toby said, "It's probably time to attach him to an  
outpost in Upper Volta."  
  
"Is Upper Volta a bad place to be?" Charlie growled.  
  
"Know where it is?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Me, neither, but it sounds like it sucks." He turned back to CJ. "How is Donna  
taking it?"  
  
"Quietly. She said that she'd had a pretty good clue that they were done, but  
she thought he'd stand up at a time like this. Brat bastard. Anyway, she's  
sitting in the Mural Room until Josh gets out of his meeting with Haffley."  
  
"Does Josh know?" Toby asked.  
  
"Not yet. Anyone want to be standing near him when he finds out?"  
  
"No way." Charlie shook his head. "So Bernard Ritenour gets a leg for free but  
Donna has to pay for reconstructive surgery. That is completely messed up."  
  
"Not so messed up that I can't make it worse," Toby said.  
  
"What do you mean?" CJ and Charlie chorused.  
  
Recalling his sotto voce conversation after services, Toby smiled. "Because I  
asked the First Lady to step in."  
  
***  
  
The Revolutionary War scenes painted all around the Mural Room depressed Donna.  
Men - of whom she was not fond in general, just at this moment - carried weapons  
and stared each other down. Everywhere she looked, war. And probably some Navy  
people here and there, just to rub salt in the wound. She turned toward the back  
of the loveseat and rested her head on her arms.  
  
She must have dozed off for a few minutes, because she didn't hear the door open  
and was startled to feel a hand on her shoulder. She started, turning around to  
face Abbey Bartlet.  
  
"Oh! Ma'am! I didn't hear you come in." She got to her feet, her legs shaky and  
undependable.  
  
"That's okay. Come with me," Abbey said gently, steadying Donna with both hands  
and leading her into the hallway. "CJ said you were in here. Josh won't be back  
for ages, and in the meantime there's someone I want you to meet."  
  
"I don't look too presentable." She had barely put on any makeup that morning,  
and she knew without looking that her face was pale and her hair unkempt.  
  
"That's fine. Let's go to the Residence, shall we?"  
  
Donna stopped walking. "I've never been--"  
  
"The Residence is just a bunch of rooms, Donna. You've stood in the Oval Office  
hundreds of times - a living room won't be such a big deal." Abbey smiled at her  
retinue of Secret Service agents, who flanked them all the way to the other part  
of the building. Abbey kept talking quietly to Donna, who heard something about  
how good the preliminary signs are, and especially that the growth was caught  
when it was so small that it was difficult to get a reading. "And you're young  
and healthy," Abbey added as she went into the sitting room. "So the  
reconstruction will be relatively simple."  
  
"Wait, wait," Donna said, scarcely noticing the gray-haired man sitting quietly  
in an armchair. "I've been turned down by three banks for a loan, just today,  
because they say it's unnecessary surgery. I'm not sure there's--"  
  
"This is where my brother comes in."  
  
Donna's overwhelmed mind finally registered the man, recognizing the wide-set  
eyes and strong cheekbones. He got to his feet and shook her hand. "Thomas  
Barrington, Abbey's brother. We've met a few times - I just wish this one fell  
under less strenuous circumstances."  
  
"Thank you," Donna barely managed to whisper. She looked from the First Lady to  
her brother. "I don't understand."  
  
"I came in for one of the Christmas dinners. Great food, but I never did see all  
of my nieces at the same time. Anyway, Abbey called to tell me that you're  
having some problems that I could help with."  
  
Thomas Barrington was one of the most renowned plastic surgeons in the nation.  
Donna's mouth went completely dry. "I need...that is, there's no way I can..."  
  
"Donna," Abbey interrupted, "don't worry about anything. I'm not going to let  
stupidity get in the way of what's best for you. Oh, no, none of that," she said  
with mock sternness as Donna's eyes filled with tears.  
  
Dr. Barrington put his hands on Donna's shoulders. "I'll be there in the  
operating room. If there's nothing to it but a benign growth, then I'll simply  
be there to do the closure. If it's something more, then there's a procedure  
called the Peg that I'll take care of right then and there." He brought her over  
to the table and opened an album. "These are women six weeks post-op."  
  
She didn't want to see what she might look like, but she forced herself to look  
at the pictures, Donna was astonished at the results. "It's hard to tell which  
breast is which!" she exclaimed. "You could do that for me?"  
  
"I haven't had the chance to do an exam, but judging from your general physical  
makeup, I don't see why not. This way, even if worst comes to worst, you won't  
wake up to the trauma of missing a breast."  
  
She shuddered. No matter how many times she had forced herself to think about  
it, the fear always seemed as fresh, as cataclysmic, as the first shock of  
discovery. "Would it affect any radiation or...or..." Even as she tried to  
force the words out, her hands smoothed the soft blonde hair.  
  
"It won't affect chemo or radiation, if you need to have them," Abbey said  
reassuringly. "There's no foreign object in there, just your own tissues." Donna  
began to cry softly and Abbey embraced her, rocking her gently as she kept  
talking. "Tom's leaving on Sunday, so we need to get this done first thing  
tomorrow morning. He's already made the arrangements with your doctor and the  
surgical team. You should go home and get some rest - you'll need to be at G.W.  
around 5:30 in the morning. Do you want me to call CJ and have her stay with  
you?"  
  
Unable to speak, Donna simply shook her head.  
  
"Well, then," Dr. Barrington said evenly, "Don't eat anything, and don't drink  
anything after midnight. Have someone get you to GW at 5:30 tomorrow and we'll  
get you checked in quickly. I know you want this to be over with, one way or  
another, as soon as possible."  
  
"I don't know how to thank you," Donna whispered brokenly.  
  
"Abbey will want to make you a poster child - she's ready to take on the  
insurance lobby and gnaw them into a gelatinous mass," Dr. Barrington said,  
smiling reassuringly at Donna. "You won't see me tomorrow morning - I'll get  
there once the pathology lab has the growth - but I'll check in on you, either  
way, once you're in a regular room. If you have any questions, call here and  
they'll put you straight through to me."  
  
If she had any questions. She had nothing but questions.  
  
She also had hope.  
  
Donna shook hands with Dr. Barrington and accepted Abbey's offer of company on  
the way out of the White House. Abbey held her hand lightly as they walked to  
the lobby, where they nearly collided with Josh.  
  
He bounded up to Donna, ignoring Abbey. Breathlessly, he asked, "Are you having  
surgery tomorrow? Do you need anything? Can I take you to the hospital?"  
  
Donna gave him a wan smile as she caressed his cheek. His skin was warm and  
flushed, with a prickly covering of stubble, and his eyes were grave as he  
listened to her words. "I'd actually like to be alone, and I'll just take a cab.  
If that's okay."  
  
He seemed partially relieved and partially hurt. "I just found out that  
Jack's--" He cut himself off and shook his head. "Never mind. I just wish I  
could do something."  
  
"What if I call you from the hospital tomorrow and let you know how she's  
doing?" Abbey volunteered. Donna and Josh snapped back to attention as if they  
had forgotten she had been standing with them. "Let her be, Josh, she needs  
rest, not a recitation of the middle names of every Congressman from a state  
starting with N."  
  
That made Donna laugh, and she pulled Josh close for a hug. He felt thin and she  
could feel the tension in his back. "It's going to be fine," she reassured him,  
even though she wanted with all her heart to let him wrap himself around her and  
protect her from everything.  
  
Josh gazed at her for a long moment, then nodded, drawing himself up to his full  
height as he walked away. Abbey squeezed Donna's hand. "He doesn't understand  
why you won't let him in," she said softly.  
  
Donna didn't completely understand, either. She inhaled sharply, already  
imagining the antiseptic smell of the hospital. "He would just find a way to  
feel guilty," she said, considering each word.  
  
"He's going to do that anyway. One of the many traits he shares with Leo."  
  
Donna had heard the rumors of what was transpiring between Dr. Bartlet and Leo  
McGarry - it was impossible to work in the White House and miss them. She knew  
how much Leo had agonized over Zoey's abduction and his own role in the  
impossible turns of events that had led up to it, and she suspected that it was  
that very guilt that had reconciled the two old friends to one another. She  
looked into Abbey's compassionate eyes and nodded. "I'll ask the hospital to  
list him as the contact person so they'll let him know as soon as I'm...done.  
And I'll call him when I can."  
  
"Thank you. He's going to be unbearable until he hears from you." Abbey and the  
agents walked with Donna to the door, then she grabbed Donna again for another  
hug. "I'll be praying for you," she whispered.  
  
Donna managed to hold back the tears until she was past the main gate. At this  
hour, there were very few people around to notice one young woman crying softly  
as she made her way to her car, her apartment, and an uncertain future.  
  
***  
  
Saturday Morning  
  
  
"I can't believe we haven't heard anything yet," Josh groused as he tapped the  
side of Gail's bowl.  
  
"I can't believe Charlie and Deanna left for the prison without saying  
anything," was Toby's response as he shook the fish food canister.  
  
"I can't believe the two of you have commandeered my office," CJ said sharply.  
She took the food from Toby's hand. "If you overfeed her, Tobus, I will have to  
hunt you down and hurt you."  
  
He smirked even as he returned the food. "We work fifty feet from one another. I  
think 'hunting' may not be necessary."  
  
CJ looked at Josh. His face was drawn and there were deep circles under his  
eyes. While CJ had also endured a restless night, at least she got to cover up  
the telltale signs with makeup. Josh just looked like ten miles of bad road.  
"Did you sleep at all?" she asked, reaching out to ruffle his hair.  
  
Josh's yawn told her everything she needed to know. "I tried to call Sam but he  
wasn't home. I couldn't fall asleep, so I just sort of read and, you know,  
watched Fox News and made rude remarks."  
  
CJ missed Sam so much at times like this. When nothing made sense and the vague  
hurt clawed at her from within, Sam had a way of producing order from the chaos  
that surrounded them. "At least you accomplished something useful," she quipped.  
  
"Not as useful as hanging Jack Reese from a yardarm," Josh said with grim  
determination.  
  
"What is a yardarm, anyway?" CJ asked. She didn't wait for an answer. "The notes  
I got from Debbie Fiderer said that the Youngs were one of six families Ritenour  
wanted to meet today, ostensibly to apologize. Six families, on top of the two  
we already knew about from the trial, had their lives turned inside out because  
of one man."  
  
"Ritenour's not stupid," Toby said. "He knows that Charlie will attract  
attention, and that the President is firmly against the death penalty, and  
there'll be a lot of debate in the press. Maybe enough to buy him the time his  
lawyers couldn't."  
  
"That's pretty cynical," countered Josh. "What if this is legit, if he really  
just wants to say he's sorry to the people he hurt?"  
  
CJ could scarcely hide her amusement at the irritation in Toby's face as he  
turned toward her and waved a hand at Josh. "CJ, would you please explain to  
Josh, here, why Ritenour's definitely blowing smoke up our collective ass?"  
  
"I actually don't care about his motive," Josh said, sticking his chin out and  
balling his hands into fists. "What makes me angry is that he's got Charlie and  
Deanna all tied up in knots."  
  
The three of them agreed with that statement enough to render them silent. Josh  
went back to annoying the fish, while Toby busied himself reading the  
ingredients on the fish food label. If she hadn't been so worried, CJ might have  
demanded that they both get the hell out of her office and accomplish something  
important.  
  
Not that she could manage to think of anything to do, either. She put her  
reading glasses on, took them off, put them on again, then finally put them on  
top of her head and paced back and forth between her desk and the door. Carol's  
phone wasn't ringing. Was it better the longer Donna was in surgery, or the  
other way around?  
  
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she almost walked straight into Will,  
who had entered Carol's office quietly and stood with his hands at his sides.  
"Hey. Got any news?"  
  
"Of whom?" Will asked with a sigh.  
  
"Good question. Come on in and we'll all wait together." She touched his elbow  
and nudged him forward.  
  
Will stood at the threshold. "Am I really allowed to come in?"  
  
"We're giving amnesty today," Josh called out, not taking his eyes off the  
fishbowl. Gail hovered behind the miniature podium, unresponsive to the random  
taps.  
  
As he entered the room and stood near the television sets, Will looked over at  
Josh. "I'm surprised you're here."  
  
CJ saw Josh's back stiffen. "Where else would I be?" he asked.  
  
Before CJ had time to give Will a signal, he replied, "The hospital. You look  
like you haven't slept, and if tormenting a goldfish is your idea of a pastime,  
then obviously you're just on this edge of going insane with worry. Get someone  
to cover for you, go on over."  
  
Toby raised an eyebrow. CJ could not be sure if he wanted Will to keep tripping  
over his tongue, just for the pure entertainment value, or if he was going to  
step in and derail the conversation.  
  
"Donna gave pretty specific instructions," CJ said firmly. "She wouldn't even  
let me go. The First Lady is over there now, and she'll call in when she knows  
something."  
  
"I'm just saying, that with what's-his-name not coming, and her family not being  
able to get here in time, it might be a good idea for you to--"  
  
"I don't like hospitals," Josh said quietly. He traced a fish shape on the glass  
of Gail's bowl.  
  
Will shrugged. "No one likes them, at least no one who likes the taste of, you  
know, actual food. But if it's a close friend, then--"  
  
Glaring at Will, Josh retorted, "I don't do hospitals. Period. Maybe you haven't  
heard, but I spent a hell of a lot of time in one, a couple of years back."  
  
CJ telegraphed to Toby that they should end this conversation now. Toby shook  
his head. Let them play it out.  
  
"I heard about that." Will's tone was conciliatory but firm. "I didn't know you  
then. In fact, I'd forgotten that anyone got shot but the President until about  
a month ago, and even then I had to look up who it was. I'm sorry that it  
happened to you, Josh. I can only imagine the kind of fear and pain you went  
through. All of you, for that matter," he added, turning to CJ and then to Toby.  
"You've suffered. Anyone with two warm brain cells knows that. But, bottom line?  
You're not the only person in the world who has. So I'm telling you this - suck  
it up and get to G.W."  
  
Toby broke the agonizing silence that followed. "It's good, but you could use  
fewer words. Watch and learn." He faced Josh, staring him down. "Josh, be a  
mensch." He turned back to Will. "See how easy it is?"  
  
CJ watched Will relax for the first time since he had gone to work for the Vice  
President. Only Toby could make an obtuse gesture of good will that also served  
as the mild reproach Josh needed.  
  
Sure enough, Josh squared his shoulders and cocked his head at the door. "Okay,  
then. I'm going."  
  
"Let us know how she is," CJ called after him. She made her way past the two men  
and sat down at her desk. "If you don't have anything to do, I can find  
something." It was a challenge, issued directly to Toby, who gave her a rueful  
smile.  
  
"Let's get some coffee before we end up writing this evening's press  
conference."  
  
"Me?" Will pointed to himself with both hands. "The pariah? You want to get  
coffee."  
  
Toby glanced at CJ, who tried to hide her smile, then started walking toward the  
door. "Getting coffee is my way of telling you that we need to discuss your  
recent bursts of verbosity."  
  
Will raised his eyebrows at CJ, who nodded toward the door. "Go," she whispered,  
watching as Will and Toby headed for the Mess and, more importantly, an  
understanding.  
  
It was about damn time.  
  
***  
  
Layers of smoke and gauze, thin as they were, held Donna just beneath the  
surface. She wanted to swim to the top, but her limbs were far too heavy. Maybe  
if she stopped struggling, she could float upwards and break free.  
  
Donna felt cool air on her face, and a warm, soft hand holding hers. Guiding  
her, pulling her gently back to shore. Mom? She wanted to ask, but she knew it  
wasn't her mother. Besides, the clouds in her throat wouldn't let her speak.  
  
Slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, Donna opened her eyes. She  
couldn't see the clock because it was wobbly and swimmy, and she couldn't turn  
her head because her stomach warned her that would be a very, very bad choice.  
Instead, she closed her eyes again and took a deep breath.  
  
Adrenaline surged through her when she recognized the sounds and smells of a  
hospital room. She forced her eyes open a second time. Abbey Bartlet was looking  
down at her, smiling gently. Donna took in a sharp, frightened breath. "I know,  
sweetie," Abbey whispered. She helped Donna put her hand lightly over the  
bandages. "It was benign. You've got everything you went in with. All Tom did  
was close the incision."  
  
The swirling sensation of relief almost pulled Donna back under again, but she  
kept breathing evenly and made herself stay awake, made herself process the  
wonderful news. She swallowed, wincing at the graininess in her throat, and  
moved her parched lips.  
  
Abbey leaned over. "Just whisper it," she admonished. "Don't try to talk just  
yet."  
  
Donna nodded, fighting back the sudden ocean-swell of lightheadedness. She moved  
her hand to Abbey's and squeezed it with what little strength she could muster,  
then she managed to get out the two words that meant more to her than she could  
comprehend.  
  
"Call Josh."  
  
***  
  
The stately grandfather clock ticked away the seconds, its insistent meter the  
only sound in the Oval Office. Charlie sat on the loveseat, holding hands with  
his sister. Their dark suits brought out the gravity in their expressions.  
  
For all his intelligence, education, and experience, the president had no idea  
what to say to the two young people who sat opposite him. Their responses to his  
questions had been terse: yes, they had spent fifteen minutes with Bernard  
Ritenour, who apologized for shooting their mother during a hold-up at an ATM  
machine. He knew who she was, he had said, because she'd given him coffee and  
blankets on cold nights. And he was sorry.  
  
Bartlet couldn't imagine the grief the two of them held behind their studied  
facades. Charlie had almost sounded snide when he described the artificial leg  
Ritenour had been tapping as he talked to them.  
  
He'd be walking to the death chamber in two days. Bartlet objected to the very  
notion of such a thing, and he knew that Charlie had come to agree with him.  
That said, he began to understand how Charlie had been able to say that he'd  
want to perform the act himself.  
  
Leo entered as quietly as a cat, CJ at his side. He had a note in his hand and  
his expression was grave. Bartlet reached for the paper, but Leo and CJ walked  
past him and handed it to Charlie.  
  
Bartlet couldn't get Leo to look at him, so he watched Charlie's face. The young  
man's eyes widened. Deanna peered at the paper, clenched her teeth, and nodded,  
clutching her brother's hand tightly.  
  
Only then did CJ and Leo walk back to the president and give him the folded  
note.  
  
Bernard Ritenour, killer of at least eight people, had suffered a heart attack  
during an interview with the family of one of his victims. He was pronounced  
dead at the scene.  
  
***  
  
"CJ! CJ! CJ!"  
  
The din in the press room was deafening after the morbid silence of the Oval  
Office. "Chris."  
  
"Have Charles Young and his sister been notified of Ritenour's death?"  
  
"Yes, they were made aware of the situation a few minutes ago. They are in the  
company of Leo McGarry and will not be speaking to the press at any time." She  
squinted into the crowd. "Barry."  
  
"Do you think that a death from natural causes will be enough closure for the  
Youngs and the other families?"  
  
"Can there be enough closure?" CJ shot him an annoyed look over the rims of her  
glasses and hoped Katie would get back from vacation soon. "Mike."  
  
"Will the White House make a statement about whether Ritenour was being  
considered for pardon?"  
  
"There will be no statements whatsoever coming from this building."  
  
She wanted to say that Bernard Ritenour had been treated with more compassion  
than he had shown any of his victims. She looked out into the crowd and saw Toby  
standing next to Will. Both men were watching her, their expressions serious,  
but only Toby knew what was in CJ's heart as she deflected the issue.  
  
"On to good news - as many of you know, Special Assistant Donnatella Moss  
underwent surgery this morning. I'm happy to report that the tumor was benign,  
and that she'll be back and running the West Wing in about a week. In lieu of  
flowers, we're asking that people donate stiff drinks to those of us who will be  
dealing with Josh in the meantime."  
  
***  
  
Donna's hospital room was of the standard variety - except for the profusion of  
flowers. Vases and bowls covered every flat surface, and the combined aromas  
made Toby's eyes water as he entered. He started to say something, but Josh  
turned around and put his finger over his lips.  
  
God only knew how long Josh had been in that chair. He'd left the White House  
before noon. Around one-thirty the call had come, saying that Donna was out of  
recovery and being moved to a regular room and that the tumor had been benign.  
Now it was growing dark outside, and Josh showed no signs of being ready to  
leave.  
  
"She's asleep," Josh whispered. "Dr. Barrington came in and said they'll release  
her tomorrow."  
  
"I'm glad," Toby said, looking down at Donna's pale, relaxed face.  
  
"Everything's going to be all right," Josh said, probably as much to himself as  
to Toby.  
  
As he walked to the chair on the other side of the room, Toby noticed that Josh  
held Donna's hand very gently, his fingers absently stroking her skin. He wasn't  
sure who would derive more comfort from the gesture, but anything that calmed  
Josh was fine with him.  
  
"I'm glad," Toby said after a while. "She told me some things I didn't want to  
hear."  
  
"She does that to me every day," Josh replied.  
  
"I'm sure. I'm also sure that she'll end up being the biggest thorn in the  
insurance lobby's side - and an effective one." He sighed. "I used to think that  
not having a child would be the most unimaginable thing that could happen to  
Andi." He shook his head. "Not even close."  
  
"I know."  
  
Toby motioned toward Donna. "She really is quite something."  
  
Josh looked at him for the first time. "I know that, too," he said before  
turning his gaze back to the bed.  
  
He was watching Donna's every breath with an intensity Toby understood all too  
well. Little by little, Josh's eyelids drooped and his breathing slowed as he  
fell asleep in the chair.  
  
Toby got up and unfolded the little blanket at the foot of Donna's bed. He  
draped it over Josh's shoulders, careful not to wake him, then reached over and  
stroked Donna's hair. "You really are quite something," he murmured in a gentle  
voice he would never have used while she was awake.  
  
Satisfied that both his friends were asleep, he returned to his chair, pulled it  
closer to the bed, and began to keep watch.  
  
***   
END "Quality of Mercy" Feedback is adored at marguerite@swbell.net or  
Marguerite@operamail.com  
  
  
  
  



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